


Better Than

by MapleleafCameo



Series: Towards Ecstasy [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Romance, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:15:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1674368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleleafCameo/pseuds/MapleleafCameo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An angel fell to Earth.<br/>A man found him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This will be a series of small stories in no particular order
> 
> Inspired by the music of Sarah McLachlan
> 
> Thanks mattsloved1 for checking it out
> 
> Don't own

“Really? Better than ice cream? It’s better than that, is it?” A slight sarcastic edge to the response but filled with humour rather than scorn.

 “Oh, yes! You know how ice cream slides in your mouth and cools your tongue, the flavour bursts and you kind of hold it there, while it melts and flows, trickling down your throat? Better than that.” A chuckle, almost a giggle, dirty and low. A perfect eyebrow, arched at him. “You can shut it, thanks. I know how it sounds. It’s better than anything else that I’ve tried. Better than chocolate.” A hand dragged along a pale expanse of moonlight skin. Breath drawn in and a huff of laughter as the edge of a long black feather had swept along his bare flesh. A gasp. “That tickles.”

 Rich, sable laughter, joined in, entwined around the other’s audible mirth and rang through the room. A smile, sly and knowing, broke out on the full mouth. “I’d say sorry but…”

 “You’re not, you never are. Git.” Affection in the tone of his reply, “How about you? Your turn.”

 “Your love, John, wonderful, exquisite, brilliant John, is better than dust motes settling on a bookshelf after dancing through the air in the sunlight. It’s better than galaxies colliding, absorbing one into another, creating new realities. It is better than flying through the clouds during a rainstorm, with lightning thundering loud in my veins. It is better than…”

 “A triple murder in a locked room?” Navy eyes crinkled, and thin, mobile lips caressed and travelled across a long neck. He murmured into the skin. “You can’t remember the names of the planets in the solar system, but comparing it to galaxies, huh?”

 “John, I hold the names of a multitude of heavenly bodies in my head. I’ve seen the birth of a trillion planets. I can’t recall them all at the same time. Besides, you, you are…”

 “Yes?”

 “The stars were where I was born, where I came into being, but you, you are my home now. I don’t need to know the names of the planets.”

 Silence and wonder, in a long pause. “And I compared it to ice cream. God, Sherlock, I can’t…” a hand through ink-dark curls, down his neck, across muscular shoulders and touched the silky skin were it melded into the downy feathers at the base of Sherlock’s broad strong wings. A tremor flowed through the feathers and the wings trembled as short, clever hands ran through, sorted them, calmed them.

 “Don’t…Oh! That’s…”

 “Oh I’m sorry! Too much?”

 “No, don’t stop. Oh yes, John! Yes.” His head lowered and leaned into John’s shoulder. “You have no idea how erotic, how sensual that is. I, oh fuck, I can’t…”

 "Shh, here, let me…” His other hand snaked down and stroked the swollen velvet and silk skin, warm and heavy between the long legs, the tip wet. His thumb flicked and smoothed the head, playing with the slit. The wings, which had stilled momentarily, trembled again, feathers ruffled as the other hand continued to stroke them.

 Hands braced on either side of John’s head, Sherlock’s head was still down, mouth nuzzling the golden skin underneath. He moved his hips slowly, carnally. John took both of them in hand and another shudder wracked the long, lean frame, hovered above him. Wings, confined in the small space of the bedroom, swept out and flapped, stirred the air, causing scattered papers to shift and move.

 Spoken low, “Easy. I’ve got you.”

 “No John, I have you.” Wings beat, once, and then tempered, curtaining the bed, and blocked their bodies from the unseen. The pace of the two increased, slick and sweat, skin slid together. Long arms wrapped around John’s shorter torso, held him, clutched. Respiration escalated in time with the strokes. In a heartbeat the two joined in a dance older than the stars that were Sherlock’s home. Crashing together and then falling, falling, slowly, the large coal black wings, dark and glossy, steadied them.

 All was quiet in the room except for the breathing and the ripple of feathers. Hands, marvellous hands stroked quivering flesh, stilled the tremors. He was pulled down and languid kisses continued.

 A lazy head lifted and intense eyes, celestial hued, swept the beloved face. John smiled, his own eyes warm and ocean blue, those hands of his came back up to the tops of the wings. “Why?” he asked.

 “Why what?”

 “Why me?”

 “You are everything.”

 

 

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Better Than [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4720982) by [Lockedinjohnlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lockedinjohnlock/pseuds/Lockedinjohnlock)




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